The Circus of Dreams
by hisokun
Summary: Trust me, I know his type. He's the kind of guy who knows exactly what to say, the kind who will give you everything you want but never what you need, the kind who absolutely infuriates you but can never get enough of, the kind who's going to break your heart - the worst kind. The kind I'm probably falling in love with. Hisoka x OC
1. Lurking

**Akuma Hiroshima **

_The night is slow and cold. The moon is rising high like a hawk. If Akuma closes her eyes, she could almost hear the moon howling against the night. When she enters through the open balcony overlooking the city of Yorkshin, the chilly night air follows her trail. Her footsteps are heavy when she lands on the floor. Her father would be disappointed if he ever knew of her first mistake._

_Akuma had hoped that this mission would be easy, that she could get through the heavy hours of the night without any problems, but she's only getting more nervous. Her heart is beating against her chest like a Church bell. Her skin is cold as she takes in the freezing air. She has never been comfortable with the cold. Akuma's eyes linger over the empty room. _

_The windows are wide open. The curtains are swaying in the direction of the wind. As she enters the room, her feet soak in the lush fabric of the carpets. The bed looks as soft as velvet, and the walls are dipped in deep burgundy. When she takes another step, the floorboards creak – another mistake. Her heart leaps when she hears loud footsteps in the hallway. _

_No, she thinks. I shouldn't be afraid. I have the upper hand. They don't know that I'm here. _

_Akuma takes a deep breath to calm herself down. The footsteps disappear in the other direction, probably leading to the staircase. Her father had given her all the details she needs for the job, including the family's tendencies and traits. She's memorized them for over a week, making sure that everything is painted in her mind like a canvas. _

_Her father also warned her that she should erase every memory she has of her kills. It's to make her life easier, and it's for her to master. Akuma steps out of the room silently, closing the door behind her. She doesn't know whose room she had entered, but she's sure that it doesn't belong to the person she has to kill. The hallways are dark and gloomy. She wonders whether a family does live her, or maybe the house has already been occupied by ghosts. _

_She lingers in the shadows of the walls, avoiding every trance of light making its way on the floors. She tries to remember what her father taught her: never make a sound; don't think of anything until you've gotten your kill; you are made of air, and you should act like it. She learned a lot of things the past few weeks, but she doesn't know whether any of them could apply to what she's feeling. _

_She is made of air – heavy and bothered, a thundercloud in the midst of a storm, unable to move away until the last strike of lightning hits the ground. She wonders how long it will be until she becomes lightning itself. When will she strike? And how hard would her attack be? _

_Finally, she arrives in front of a double door room. This is where her target is. Her first target, her first kill. She clenches her fists tightly, swallowing the vomit down her throat. There's no time for errors or hesitation. Either she kills, or someone kills her. She wraps her black scarf around her, shielding her face. She's wearing all black – black shoes, black pants, and a black t-shirt. Even her hair is the color of a raven's feathers. The only things that stand out are her eyes. It's the color of bright teal, vibrant and shines like a neon light. _

_Akuma presses the door slightly forward, leaving just enough space for her to slip in. The room – the office – is also dark. But there is a lamp providing little light on the desk. There is a man sitting on the desk, his face directed toward the heaps of papers and articles arranged on his table. He doesn't even seem to notice that there is another presence in the room. Akuma takes a deep breath and makes her way toward the man. _

_The room is surrounded by shelves of books. Akuma could barely take her eyes off the vast collection. Maybe she could even sneak one out before she goes, predicting that she does her job correctly. Akuma slips her gloves off, and taking in a sharp breath, forces her fingers to sharpen. The veins in her hands protrude through her delicate skin. _

_As she's nearly three feet near the man, he looks up, alert. His eyes survey the room, and his fingers are shaking mildly with fear. Akuma stops briefly, her heart jumping out of her chest like a firecracker. This isn't supposed to happen. She thought she concealed her presence well enough to go on unnoticed. Now that her plan has failed, her mind comes out blank. _

"_Who's there?" the man asks, his voice firm, but Akuma could trace the slightest hint of fear. He doesn't her position, so she still has the ability of surprise. She has one opportunity to get this right. And she will. She absolutely has to. "Come out now. If you do, I won't hurt you." The man stands up from his chair, knocking it over. This is her chance. _

_Akuma slowly walks forward, her body still hidden in the dark. She prepares her sharp fingers to attack. She ignores the way it's shaking so badly, it looks like it's having epilepsy. Her father taught her to erase all the emotions inside her, to be a human composed of a dark void. She leaps from her position, her arm ready to slice the man's head off his spinal cord. _

_In that one second, the man turns to her, his eyes going wide. Akuma feels herself hesitate for one second, but her fingers are already halfway through the man's neck. His body lands on the floor with a thump. His head is lolling on its side, his eyes still wide open as he stares at her in horror. Akuma's body gives up on all its strength. She kneels on the floor, her chest heaving like she just swallowed an ocean with one breath. _

_Blood is pooling the floors. It's staining the expensive carpets and the study floorboards. Akuma's eyes stay focused on the blood creeping its way up to her knees. She can't move. Her fingers are frozen. She doesn't know if it's from the cold or the way the man looked at her before she could strike an attack. It was almost as if he just knew what she was. _

_She's composed of blood that yearns the thought of murder. She's made of cells that exist solely to kill. Her skin is only a fragment of the bones that are hard to break. And her heart is created with a mournful of steel. She's a killer. She was made to be a killer, that's what her father silently told her. Looking at the blood soaking her black pants, she believes it. _

_Akuma's mind snap open when she hears a trail of footsteps just near the door. She struggles to stand up. Her knees are buckling underneath her. She could barely support her weight. She squeezes the blood off her pants, but she could still feel it snaking its way toward her skin. She pushes the window open, letting the air in. Like the other room, this one also has a balcony. _

_She jumps on the railing and looks down at the distance from the ground. If she were older, the distance would be no problem, but if she jumps now, she would die. But the footsteps are getting louder. She has to get out now. Thinking of now other way to escape, she slips off the railing. She closes her eyes, feeling like she's falling face first into a void. But she only hears the rough rustling of leaves. Her back isn't even as painful as she thought it would be. _

_She could hear voices coming from the balcony, then follows a shrilly scream. Akuma only stares at the moon, relieved and afraid that she survived her first fall._

* * *

Looking at the man hunched down on her feet, Akuma doesn't know why she's remembering that now. Maybe it's because the situation is far too familiar. She's enveloped by the shadows lurking in the night. She's being haunted by all the ghosts she sent to the otherworld, wherever that is. She always knew that there were souls hidden inside the walls. They're watching her every move. She kicks the man on the side before realizing that he's already dead.

Akuma snaps her gloves on. Oh, well. She was hoping that she could have a bit more fun with her new target, but she always kills in one clean step. Akuma purses her lips as her eyes linger on the drops of blood trailing from the man's neck. Her mouth twitches in irritation when she sees a splatter of blood spilling her combat boots. She wipes it against the man's shirt, and then steps out of the empty alley. The stench of garbage and blood is getting to her head.

When she's walking toward the abandoned street, she feels another person watching her. The hair on the back of her neck begins to stand up, but she calms down when she recognizes the spread of aura burning her throat. She sighs heavily, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glances behind her. "I know you're there," she says, annoyed. "Were you following me even before I killed that man?"

Arata smiles at her innocently, cocking his head to the side, knowing what it will only infuriate Akuma even more. The male is dressed in a black suit, and his hair is slicked to the back. His face is freshly shaven. His suit is crisp, and his shirt is neatly tucked under his pants. Arata is only a few years older than she is, and he's definitely good looking.

"I was only following your father's orders, my lady," Arata replies, nodding his head. "I have no other choice."

Akuma crosses her arms. "I thought I made it clear that I could take care of myself. Does my father not trust me to carry out my missions without getting hurt?"

"I'm sure he has his reasons, lady Akuma. I believe your training still isn't over." Arata gestures to the car parked only a few blocks away. "Would you like to get inside now? I wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

"I could go home on my own," Akuma points out. "It isn't too far, and you know how I feel about being escorted." Despite her efforts to try to at least convince Arata of her capabilities, she knows that he would never agree. Once her father relays the orders, they have no other choice but to obey. Arata doesn't say a word, communicating through his eyes.

Akuma sighs, following Arata toward the vehicle. For some reason, her father doesn't trust her enough to go alone. She knows that he's only doing this for her protection, but she's done this job long enough to master everything she needs to. Her kills are completed with precision. Her attacks are flawless. Her skills are unpredicted. Her power is formidable. So, why can't her father leave her alone?

"Do you think he will ever teach me nen?" Akuma asks the butler.

Arata only glances back briefly. "That is not for me to answer, lady Akuma. Your father's intentions are not my number one priority."

"Of course," Akuma says drily. "And my well-being is more important than yours, I presume?"

Arata actually laughs. "I could take care of myself perfectly, Akuma. You don't need to worry."

"Oh, yeah?" Akuma taunts, challenging him. She squeezes her fists together and brings them to her chest, getting ready to attack. "Then, fight me. Show me what I'm missing. Tell me why my father trusts _you_, but not me."

Arata's mouth curve into a full smile, amused. Akuma's stomach almost leaps into her heart. Arata has always been attractive, but his smile is something that Akuma rarely sees. She pictures it in her head, wanting to replay it over and over again. Arata pushes her hands down. He opens his mouth to say something, but he snaps his head to the side.

Akuma follows his gaze. To her left, there is a small boy walking toward him. He's dressed in ragged clothes, and his skin is full of scars and blotches. Akuma's eyes soften at the sight of the young boy. When the boy reaches her, Akuma slips her hand into her pocket for change, but she catches Arata's eyes.

"Don't," he says thickly. "You know what you should do when you see a stranger getting too close to you."

She stiffens. "He's not my target." _He's just a little boy. He's innocent_.

Arata's eyes harden. He looks away. "Does it matter?" he swallows. Akuma scowls at him, her eyes going over the state of the young boy. He's not supposed to die, and she's not supposed to kill him. But there are a lot of things she wasn't supposed to do, and yet she still did it.

With a flash of her hand, she throws a blade to the boy's neck. It snaps backward, and his head clutters to the ground. Akuma can't remember the last time she felt guilty. She lets her blood boil over the dead boy's body before walking toward the vehicle in silence. There are so many things she could do with her hands. Killing isn't supposed to be one of them.

* * *

When she gets to her father's "office", her entire expression is blank. The walls are lighted with steeled lanterns. The floors are made of smooth cement. Her home is located under the city of Yorkshin. There are times when Akuma could not see light for a week. Sometimes, she forgets what the sun even feels like on her skin. Right now, her body is sweating. Her father's office is usually so cold, but at this time of the year, the sun is only heating everything up.

Her father – Hiroto Hiroshima – is waiting for her to take a seat. Her father has shoulder length black hair, and a pair of dark green eyes the color of grasslands. He's built like a bull. He could probably crush her face with one hand. There are a lot of things Akuma knows about her father, but she knows none that actually matters. Her father is distant and silent, but during training, she could see a different part of him, a part that's alive.

She's not sure whether she could see that part again. "Father." Akuma bows down in respect. "I've finished the job."

"Yes," her father replies. "I could see that. You did well. Just like you always do." Hiroto gestures to the seat next to him. With a slight hesitation, Akuma sits down. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't even think she's still breathing. Her father never usually talks to her, if he doesn't need anything. The butlers are the ones giving her the jobs she needs to complete.

"I have a new target for you." Hiroto grabs a file from his desk. He hands it to her with a frown. "The job is very . . . peculiar. I don't think you'd like it very much, but the pay could suffice us for over a year."

Akuma opens the file. There is a picture of a gorgeous man clipped to the folder. He has hair the color of wildfire. His skin looks smooth and pale. There is a painting of a star on his right cheek, and a teardrop on the other. But what catch her attention the most are his eyes – it is the brightest shade of yellow.

"Will you do the job?" Hiroto asks her, his voice firm.

She has no other choice in the matter, but even if she does, she doesn't think she could say no. Her voice echoes in the halls before she could even truly decide. "Yes. I'll do it."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Please review and/or favorite and/or follow if you like the story (or not)! I'm only continuing this story if I get enough reviews. **


	2. Forgotten

**A/N: Please read and review! **

* * *

_There's really nothing he could do right now that could save him. Maybe this is the end. Maybe this is where his life will finally be taken away from him. The boy has been waiting a long time for this, to feel himself slipping away into that void of oblivion. He remembers that there's a word for it. What do grownups call that? The redhead closes his eyes, trying to think, but it's hard when there's a warm and greasy hand wrapped closely around his throat._

_The hand is twice the size of his own. It's rough and full of scars. He doesn't know where it's from, and he doesn't think he'd like to know. The air is stale with beer. The boy tries not to inhale a whiff of the stench. The room is full of beer bottles. All of them are cluttered on the floor like garbage. Some of them are still half-empty. Most of them are emptied to the brim. Unfortunately, he still has to breath, so he takes a deep breath of air. _

_He ignores the way it stings his nostrils. How long have they been like this? How long is this man going to "choke" him? The boy is still breathing, even when he shouldn't be. Maybe this is all just a dream. He opens his eyes when he hears footsteps from the corridor. A woman is there, but her face is blurry. She's holding a large stick that's big enough to reach his full size. He lifts his head to get a clearer view, but the man choking him slams his head backward. _

_The boy grits out in pain. His head is throbbing, and his throat is closing up on him. He should've been dead minutes ago. Why is he still alive, if this man is stronger than he is? He shouldn't even be able to fight back, so the man could kill him within seconds. The boy almost smiles when he feels a stabbing pain run across his back. _

"_What should we do with him?" the man asks. His voice is familiar, like the boy has heard it a thousand times before. _

_The woman slaps the stick against the boy's spine. "What do you think? It's not like we can just throw him away." _

"_That's not exactly a bad idea, is it?" the man chuckles. He grabs the boy's hair and roughly tugs his head forward before bringing it down again. The boy coughs out a drop of blood from his enclosed throat. He wheezes out from the pain as the air in his lungs begin to cease. "This boy is just a worthless piece of trash." _

"_Got that right," the woman replies in irritation. "But we can't abandon him. He's out last hope." _

_The man scoffs. "Last hope. Are you kidding me? He can't even fight back. Right, little boy?" He digs his nails unto the boy's scalp as he brings his head forward to meet his eyes. "Piece of shit. Can't even say something when you want him to." _

"_But you don't want him to." _

"_Exactly." The man laughs. "Ah, could you hand me another beer?" _

_The woman sighs. "You've had like, ten beers in the last two hours. You're going to spend all of our savings at this rate."_

_Despite that, the boy sees the woman reach out for another one in the fridge. She takes a long gulp before offering it to her companion. The man finishes the bottle with amazing speed, leaving no drops left for the woman. The man smells putrid, like acid. It takes the boy a while to get rid of the smell from his nose, but it just keeps on growing like moss. _

"_It's okay, because we have our fortune right here." _

_As if to prove his point, the man lifts the boy's head again, and dunks a bottle of beer right on his forehead. The boy sees a final glimpse of light before blacking out._

* * *

**Hisoka**

The Heavens Arena is crowded. The people are booming with excitement on the sidelines. There is large television screen on top of the magician, showing the MC's face as she watches over the fight. The referee is standing outside of the stage, waiting for the two opponents to make a move. The audience is crowing their shouts and yells surround the stadium. Hisoka smiles to himself – he loves the attention they're giving him, but at the same time, he wants to finish the man off in private.

He could do it soon enough.

On the opposite side of the side is Kazuo Hayashi. The man is built like a boulder. His jaw is gruff and slanted, but it's wide enough for to eat a rock. His arms are full of muscle and thick skin. He has messy black hair and a pair of baby blue eyes. Kazuo is taller than the magician and twice as big. Hisoka is reminded vaguely of the dead Spider member – Uvogin. But Uvogin was much stronger and thicker than the man in front of him.

There is blood drying on the floor. Their fight has been going on for half an hour now, and Hisoka is getting impatient. He wants nothing more than to just finish the man off. It shouldn't be too hard. Kazuo has deep scars embedded on his arms, the length of it reaches the tip of his fingers. After ten minutes of endless dodging, Hisoka finally managed to cut Kazuo's skin.

But it's still not enough. Hisoka has broken his right hand when he punched Kazuo's face. The man's strength isn't just for show, Hisoka realizes. He really was powerful, but not powerful enough. Right now, Hisoka is trying to figure out how to end him as Kazuo glares at him for afar. The man is getting impatient as well, and it takes Hisoka all his strength not to laugh.

"Cat got your tongue, Hisoka?" Kazuo taunts.

Hisoka tilts his head at him in response. "Hmm? Actually, I was just thinking on how to cut yours."

The comment makes Kazuo red in the face. As an Emitter, Kazuo could barely hide his anger, so Hisoka is taking advantage of it. "Ha! What a joke, Hisoka. I could end you right here, right now." Kazuo bends his knees down, clasping his hands together as he summons his energy into a ball. The light from his hands is shining on Hisoka's face. The magician's frown turns into a smile.

_Ooh, this is big one_. While the man is concentrating his energy, Hisoka draws a finger in his direction. It's discreet, unless Kazuo uses his Gyo, but he's too busy with his next move. When Kazuo finally summons his energy into a ball, Hisoka drags his finger backwards, forcing Kazuo to follow its direction. His eyes widen in surprise, and his move is cut short. He gets dragged across the air like a puppet. It takes Hisoka to use his full strength to pull Kazuo to nearer.

The MC's voice roars across the stadium. "_Oh!_ What is happening now? Is Hisoka dragging Kazuo with his nen?"

If Kazuo had been paying attention to his surroundings, he wouldn't have fallen into Hisoka's trap, but the magician is simply taking advantage of his upper hand. Kazuo struggles, trying to rip off Hisoka's bungee gum. The magician simply chuckles, drawing his other hand back. Hisoka only needs one more point until he wins. His hand is broken and aching, but he'd have to make do.

When Kazuo is near enough, Hisoka punches Kazuo in the face, almost hitting his slacked jaw. The crowd cheers as Kazuo takes the impact. His body flies backward on the floor, and his cheek is bruised and swollen. Hisoka releases the man from his bungee gum as Kazuo lands with a thump. Hisoka cracks his knuckles, hoping the pain would go away soon. Too bad he can't call Machi for another treatment.

"_Ah!_" the MC shouts. "Will Kazuo be able to continue? Or will Hisoka win this match?"

The referee rushes to Kazuo's side, shaking him firmly. When Kazuo doesn't utter a word, the referee points his hand to the magician. The crowd starts to go into a ruckus of screams, their voices filling the stadium with their disbelief and amazement.

"And the winner is Hisoka!"

The magician glances at Kazuo with a tiny smile before exiting the arena.

* * *

His room is near the top of Heavens Arena. What Hisoka loves about it most is the view. Every night, the city lights are glimmering against his wide glassed window. The stars in the sky are dim in comparison as the city takes over the shadows on Hisoka's walls. And every morning, Hisoka wakes up the sea of clouds passing over the city like a bird.

Hisoka's body is aching from his recent fight. His hand is severely broken, and it will take awhile before his fingers fully heal. His skin is scarred with the amount of punches Kazuo managed to pull on him. Hisoka is eager to fight another opponent, anything to cure his boredom, but his body is going against his wishes. Hisoka tilts his head to the right, cracking his neck.

_Mm_, Hisoka thinks, _Kazuo was worth it, though. I'd love to fight him again_.

As he enters the hallway, he feels another presence waiting for him at the turn of the corridors. He widens his eyes in mild surprise and amusement. The aura is definitely familiar, but there's something else. There's something wrong lingering near the walls. Hisoka stretches his fingers. Once the magician steps into the corridors, he's greeted by a pair of blue eyes.

"Kazuo," Hisoka murmurs. "How nice to see you again."

The man smirks and flexes his biceps. "I'm here for a rematch, Hisoka. Your last move was tricky. I should've known that you wouldn't play fair."

"Oh, but I did, Kazuo. I believe you were simply incompetent to match my skills. Oh, well. I'd love to play with you again." Hisoka draws his card in between his fingers, ready to attack.

Kazuo grits his teeth in annoyance. "Why, you - "

Before he could finish his sentence, Kazuo drops to the ground. His back is wet with blood, and his eyes are drooping lowly as he stares blankly at the wall. The magician hasn't even made a move, so his only conclusion is that he was right – there is another presence concealed in the hallways. Hisoka frowns, retrieving his card. Then, his eyes meet the other figure leaning against the wall.

The man looks younger than he is, but has almost the same body structure. His hair is the color of fire, much like his own. The man's eyes are red, full of curiosity and power. He's wearing a tight red suit that clings to him like a second skin. There is cape hanging loosely on his broad shoulders. On his neck is a fire tattoo, with a small emblem of a circus drawn underneath it.

Hisoka recognizes that logo, so much that he's forgetting why he can't remember it. The magician tries to recall what it's for, the essence of it, and why this man has that kind of tattoo. Hisoka's frown curve deeper when he can't find anything that might lead to the answers he needs. Hisoka runs a hand through his hair, digging his nails into his scalp. Maybe he's seen it before in a poster, or on a wall maybe. Whatever it is – it's doing something triggering to his brain.

A sharp pain huddles over his forehead, making the magician wince slightly. Hisoka twitches his eye out of impulse. He hasn't had a headache in years. Maybe the red-haired man is doing something to him, but he doesn't like the type to have that kind of power. Hisoka tries to ignore the pain as he smiles casually at redhead.

"Anything I could help you with?" Hisoka raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

The man snickers. "Actually, yes. Would you mind dying for me? I'm kind of tired from the jetlag. Hey, did you know that the airlines are giving out free peanuts? Man, I love peanuts!"

The magician's frown doesn't erase from his face. "I'm sorry, but I'm finding no relevance in what peanuts and jetlag have to do with anything."

"Oh, it doesn't." The man grins. "I'm Nagato, by the way." He trails his down on the floor with a frown. "I guess that man's pretty much dead, huh? He had no fighting chance in the first place."

At that, Hisoka snaps his eyes wide open. Nagato has been in the audience during his fight. With a shudder, Hisoka realizes that there's a possibility this man has been watching him for weeks now. _But he said that he was tired from the jetlag_, Hisoka thinks. No, Nagato has only been in Heavens Arena in more or less twenty-four hours. He arrived here specifically to watch Hisoka's fight, but there's something telling the magician that Nagato is here for something else, something more important.

The man had asked him to die like a request. Hisoka eyes Nagato from his position. He's here to kill him, it's that simple, and because Kazuo would have been in the way, Nagato killed him first. Nagato may sound like a dumbass, but he's certainly not stupid. Hisoka laughs to himself. A few minutes ago, he wanted to fight another opponent, but he never expected the world to give him so soon.

"I'm guessing you know my name already, correct?" Hisoka smiles. "Would you like to know if you're stronger than the man you just killed?"

Nagato blinks at him before beaming. "Aww, yeah, man!" Nagato stretches his arms over his head. As he pops his knuckles, Hisoka could see a bit of flames stretching over his wrist like a bracelet. Nagato pulls out a lighter from his pocket and drapes his palms over the turned up flames. His hand catches on fire, but he doesn't seem to be in pain.

Hisoka pulls out his cards in between his fingers. His fractured hand is getting numb, but he enjoys the pain. It just makes him concentrate harder on what's in front of him. From what he can tell, Nagato is a transmuter like him, and he uses fire for his nen.

Nagato takes a step back before pushing his arms forward, and burst of flames erupt from his palms. Hisoka leaps up as the fire passes his body, nearly charring his clothes. The flames slip through the corridor, leaving tiny embers on the walls. Hisoka is going to have a hard time dodging his attacks when the corridors are too small for him to fully move away.

With this, Nagato has the upper advantage, and since he already knows how Hisoka fights, the magician is in a hell of a ride. Nagato's fingers are emitting with flames, but his wrists are slightly darkened. Hisoka tosses his cards toward him, but Nagato simply burns the cards before they could reach him. Nagato throws small fireballs at the magician.

Hisoka dodges all of them in the cramped space. As the tiny balls hit the ground, they erupt in flames. Hisoka takes a deep breath as he stares at the fire slowly getting stronger and wider. If he hadn't dodged in time, his hand would have been gone by now. The balls are probably made of explosives. Hisoka looks at the man and spots the circus logo again. Suddenly, something sharp stabs the back of his mind, and his vision becomes blurry.

"You're from the circus, aren't you?" Hisoka says. "That logo isn't just for kicks. You're the man who blows fire from his mouth."

Nagato claps mockingly. "Let's give a round of applause to the magician! Like you aren't a circus freak yourself, Hisoka."

That comment makes Hisoka's blood boil. _Circus freak_. Where had he heard that before? Nagato's voice keeps on repeating in his head, the familiarity of it all too confusing. Hisoka clenches his fists and chuckles darkly, hiding his face under his messy hair. The magician's stomach is brewing with anger, and he wants nothing more than to do express it on the redhead.

"Circus freak, huh?" Hisoka smiles and sighs softly. He brushes his hair out of his eyes. "I wonder just how _easy_ I could kill a circus freak like you."

Nagato takes a step back in surprise. His eyes are widened in fear as the magician slowly walks toward him. There is a wide smile on Hisoka's lips, and his eyes are glinting with mischief. Nagato grits his teeth, trying to pull himself together, but Hisoka has him hooked – literally. Hisoka pulls his hand back, and Nagato's body is thrown into the air.

The man yelps in surprise, but instead of trying to get out, he releases a powerful flamethrower in Hisoka's direction. It's stronger than the fire he first released and the exploding fireballs he tossed at the magician. The flamethrower is twice the size of a regular flame, almost as big as a volcano's crater. Hisoka admires it for a moment, wishing that he could have more time with the man before he kills him.

The magician dodges the attack and pulls Nagato toward him. Nagato emits another hoard of flames at Hisoka's face – this time, it's not as strong as before, but the embers are spreading madly like wildfire. The magician throws his upper body backwards to avoid the heat. Hisoka struggles to hold on to Nagato's body as he evades the attack. The arms in his veins are about to pop out from the pressure.

When the fire ceases, Hisoka recovers his posture as fast as he could. With all his strength, he throws Nagato against the wall with his bungee gum. Nagato shouts at the impact and slides down on the floor. There is a large gap in the wall, cracked cement falling down on Nagato's head.

The tip of Hisoka's hair is charred. He brushes the ashes away with his fingers.

Right before Nagato recovers, Hisoka draws five cards out of his fingers. He tosses them at Nagato's body – one card hits his heart, two others stab both of his arms, and the remaining two slashes against his legs. Nagato hisses in pain and arches his back. Seconds later, his breathing stops.

The walls are covered in smoke and ashes. The corridor is practically in flames. The floors are the color of charcoal. Hisoka slides his feet across the floor to check the remnants. Hisoka releases his bungee gum from the man and kneels down. Hisoka's hands are swelling, like they've been dipped in hot water. His whole body is in pain, but it's nothing he can't handle.

Hisoka lifts Nagato's chin up, checking the tattoo again. Now that he could have a closer look, he recognizes the yellow lantern drawn on the man's neck. Questions occupy his mind like a ball pit. He wants to know why Nagato tried to kill him, and since he went here by plane, the mission was important.

Hisoka checks the man's pockets for anything that might be useful. He stumbles upon a card – the ace of hearts – with a message engraved on the paper. But before he could read the letters, the card slowly dissolves into flares. Fortunately, Hisoka recognizes the material the card was made from – flash paper. A lot of magicians use that trick.

As Hisoka exits the corridor and enters his room, the first things he sees are the city lights gaping at him like fireflies. Hisoka puts his hand on the glass wall. He looks at the moon, vibrant and illuminating in the open sky.

He's being hunted, and the fact that he doesn't know who thrills him even more.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Would be great if you guys review/favorite/follow my story! **


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